


The Wounds We Carry

by sheg0



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:45:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheg0/pseuds/sheg0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some wounds cannot be seen, but that doesn't mean they can't be healed. Set between episode 2x10 and 2x11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wounds We Carry

**Author's Note:**

> I like to fill in the blanks and also love the idea of Clarke tending to Lexa's wounds.  
> Big thanks to Em (yangarangxl on Tumblr) for editing my typos and headcanoning with me at crazy hours of the night.

They come back to the camp by morning, stumbling, tired, clothes and skin stained with blood and dirt. Clarke holds Lexa up by her side - the fall did quite a number on her leg and shoulder. She tries to walk her to her tent without causing too much of a commotion, knowing that the Commander’s wounds need to be tended to and she needs to rest. But everyone, Grounders and Sky People alike, are already gathering around them, worry and alarm clear on their faces.

“ _Heda!_ ” Nyko exclaims as soon as he catches the slight limp and the bloodied arm. He tries to go to her, calling out at another warrior: “ _Sis em au! Ai na fis you op, Heda!_ ”

Lexa looks at him dead in the eye; it’s enough to stop him in his tracks. “ _Em pleni, Nyko._ ” She gives a couple more steps without Clarke’s help and people part in her way. “I’m fine; there is no need to worry. Everyone get back to training.”

Whispers and murmurs can be heard as they enter Lexa’s tent, followed closely by the healer. He watches Clarke help Lexa sit down on a seat of animal fur and the Commander groans, grabbing her shoulder with her good hand.

"You’re not fine, Heda," Nyko says, "I need to-"

"Clarke will do it."

Clarke looks taken aback for a moment, but nods firmly - she is also a healer after all, and after everything that they have lived (survived) together the night before, she understands the need to be close to one another.

(Lexa has a way about her; it calms Clarke’s nerves, clears her mind.)

"Uh, right. Uhm, I’m gonna need bandages and some alcohol or- ah, anything antiseptic to clean the wounds," Clarke says. “And whatever you can find to make a new sling.”

Nyko just nods, giving them a strange look before leaving the tent to find the supplies. Lexa has started unclasping her shoulder pads, letting them drop to the ground. She hisses as she tries to pull the material of her worn cloth armor aside and Clarke kneels before her, stilling her hands. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second before Lexa moves her hands away, letting Clarke work.

Clarke’s fingers slip under the cloth, pulling it with her. They brush over Lexa’s collarbone and up to her shoulder, feeling the taut muscle under the rough skin. A huge bruise is already appearing but Clarke can’t reach the wound, not like this. Lexa breathes in, short and sharp. Clarke knows it’s probably because it hurts, but she feels it’s such an intimate touch that she retracts her hands. “I’m gonna have to cut this. If I pull, I’ll just hurt you more.”

Lexa’s eyes are still fixed on her. “Do what you must.”

Minutes later, Nyko comes back with a leather bag and a cup. Lexa’s shirt is torn at her side, leaving her arm and part of her torso uncovered apart from the thin, elastic fabric wrapped around her breasts. The healer keeps his eyes respectfully on the table as he pulls the items out of the bag, setting the cup next to them. Clarke notices the steam coming out of it and the smell of herbs invades her senses.

“ _Fisen drein,_ ” Nyko says, which means nothing to Clarke. “Healing drink. Will help with the pain.”

Clarke nods at him, smiles gratefully. Nyko nods once more before leaving the tent again. Still feeling Lexa’s eyes burning through her, Clarke gets to work. She knows this stuff, she’s done it before. Clean and wrap the wounds. Makeshift sling to immobilize the shoulder. It’s textbook. Still, her hands are trembling a bit when she wets the gauze with the alcohol.

(She reasons to herself that it’s the adrenaline, the pure terror of being chased by a beast and almost dying still coursing through her veins. Nothing more.)

"This is gonna sting," she says, eyes catching Lexa’s for a moment.

The Commander doesn’t say anything, just lifts her lips the tiniest bit in that infuriating almost smile that manages to be condescending and empathic at the same time. So Clarke gets to work. She cleans the area around the bigger wound first, a long gash on the outside of her arm. The first contact doesn’t get any reaction at all, so Clarke rubs a little harder, trying to get all the dirt and dried blood out so she can determine the real damage.

And then Lexa tenses, even though she doesn’t utter a sound. Clarke glances at her out of the corner of her eye and sees the way her jaw clenches, which, for some strange reason, raises a very annoying warmth to the back of the blonde’s neck. Clarke keeps dabbing at the wound, throwing out the dirty gauze and pouring more alcohol on the clean ones. Lexa keeps tensing and clenching her jaw in one of the most admirable displays of stubbornness Clarke has ever seen.

When the wound is clean, she wraps it and gets to the smaller ones, peppered all over the bruised shoulder. She tries to be as gentle as she can, because the purple skin looks terribly painful. When she holds Lexa’s arm to wrap it with the sling, Lexa shifts slightly in her seat and Clarke sees her fist clenching. The blonde stops and looks up at the Lexa with a sigh.

"What?" Lexa asks.

Clarke shakes her head and resumes her task, a little slower, a bit more careful. After a few seconds, she can’t keep quiet though: “It’s just- I get it. You can’t show weakness, I get that.” She ties a knot over Lexa’s good shoulder and the woman cocks an eyebrow at her. Clarke shrugs. “I just- you don’t need to be strong all the time. No one is going to think less of you.” Lexa opens her mouth to object, but Clarke cuts her off. “ _I’m_ not going to think less of you. You don’t need to be all… Wonder Woman around me all the time.”

A smirk grows on Lexa’s face. “A woman of wonder?”

"Uh, nothing. Never mind. It’s an old Earth character… person. Never mind," Clarke is flushing by the time she finishes babbling, so she focuses on securing the sling and covering Lexa’s naked side with a piece of fur. When she’s done, she sits back and drops her hands to her thighs, at a lost for what to do now.

The smell of tea reminds her of that herbal drink that Nyko brought. She hands it to the Commander, who grabs it with her good hand and sips generously. Lexa’s eyes close and she keeps the still-warm cup against her breast bone. Clarke takes that short moment to really look at the other woman. She doesn’t know how old she is, never even thought of asking, but now that she sees her in the warm light of the morning filtering through the tent, without the war paint to hide the tired features, with her high cheekbones, and full lips, Clarke thinks she might only be a few years older than her. And then Lexa opens her eyes and catches her staring and Clarke thinks that maybe it’s time for her to go.

"She used to say that, too," Lexa blurts out suddenly and Clarke forgets about leaving.

She doesn’t ask, because she doesn’t need to. Clarke knows perfectly well who Lexa’s talking about because she’s only used that tone once before and it was to tell Clarke the story of how she lost the love of her life.

"Always said that I didn’t need to be strong around her. That I could… _let go_.”

Clarke smiles at the thought and the way Lexa says the words, like they’re part of a memory, like she’s borrowing them. But then Lexa’s eyes darken as she looks down into the cup. “And for a while, I started to believe her. I let my guard down. I was weak,” she looks up at Clarke sharply. “And I lost her.”

"Lexa…"

"I told you Clarke, love is weakness; I can’t go through that pain again. Not for anyone, not even for-"

Lexa seems to swallow the last word, but Clarke hears it loud and clear. That unspoken word echoes in the silence and it should come as a shock but for some reason, it doesn’t. What it does is crawl under her skin and settles low in her stomach, doing some kind of somersaults that she hasn’t felt in a while.

(The memories of Finn bring a different kind of stomach churning and she pushes them away, like always.)

Clarke opens and closes her mouth, but no sound comes out. Lexa gulps down the rest of the drink and sets the cup down. “What happened yesterday… the decisions I have to make… I couldn’t make them if there was someone.” Lexa brings her good hand up and rubs at her eyes. “I’m already… invested. And it’s making me soft, Clarke, _weak_. It puts my people in danger.” Lexa drops her hand, looking up at Clarke through her lashes in what the girl thinks is the most vulnerable look she’s ever seen on the woman. “It puts you in danger, too.”

Clarke is shaking her head before she knows it. “I’m not her.” She continues shaking her head vehemently as she pushes herself up and kneels between Lexa’s legs, resting one hand on her thigh. “I’m not her,” she repeats. “History’s not gonna repeat itself.”

"You think you’re strong? Costia was strong, too."

"Costia was not a leader," Clarke replies without hesitation. "I am."

Lexa tilts her head, a questioning look in her eyes.

"And so are you." Clarke’s eyes are holding a fire now, a certainty of something they are both too afraid to name. "And in this camp, there are only two people who really know what that means on the ground."

Without really knowing what she’s doing and acting on instinct, Clarke curls her hand under Lexa’s jaw, around the side of her neck.

"Clarke-"

"Don’t. Just-" Clarke rubs her thumb against the arch of her jaw. "I told you, I get it. You can’t seem weak. But I don’t believe caring for someone makes you weak."

"It makes you vulnerable."

"It makes you unstoppable."

Lexa seems placated for a moment so Clarke drops her head forward and Lexa leans down the last inches to rest her forehead against hers. They stay like that for a few moments.

“ _Klok kom Skaikru… yu na breik ai op._ ”

Clarke looks up at her, their noses brushing. “I’m not. I won’t.”

Lexa’s the one that kisses her, barely a brush of lips against chapped lips, but enough for Clarke to taste the herbal beverage when they part. Lexa watches her closely, eyes going from Clarke’s eyes to her lips like she’s fighting an internal war. But then she winces and leans back, closing her eyes. She tries to move her shoulder and her lips curl down.

"I will tell my people to follow your orders today. I need to rest and you need to find a way into Mount Weather."

Clarke nods, still licking her lips. A little awkwardly, she pushes herself up and points to the bed. “Do you need help moving to-“

"I’ll be fine."

"Okay. Well, then," Clarke motions to the door of the tent but Lexa grabs her hand before she has a chance to leave.

"You’re right, once again. You’re a leader too. And maybe… maybe we won’t make each other weak."

Clarke smiles, giving Lexa’s hand a squeeze. “No, maybe not.”

She leaves without another word, walks to her tent, undresses and cleans herself. In a few hours she will take Lexa’s warriors and some horses and they will ride. She will prove everyone that she’s a leader, that her trust in Bellamy, in her own plan, is not unfounded. She will prove to Lexa that she doesn’t need to sacrifice her heart for fear of losing someone else; that caring is not a weakness.

And she will prove that together, they can make each other stronger.

**Author's Note:**

> Heda!: Commander!  
> Sis em au! Ai na fis you op, Heda!: Help her! I'm gonna heal you, Commander!  
> Em pleni, Nyko: Enough, Nyko.  
> Fisen drein: Healing drink  
> Klok kom Skaikru… yu na breik ai op: Clarke of the Sky People, you are going to break me


End file.
